It’s winter and there isn’t very good news.

The pandemic rages on — why is that such a normal sentence to write? Why does it feel like I’ve heard it or written it a hundred times? — and here in the United States, the vaccine distribution is slow. There is political unrest to boot.

I miss my family and the bustle of restaurants and coffee shops. I fret over the well-being of my students, my friends, my finances. I long to get on an airplane.

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Vacation, a holiday, time off. For me, it used to mean travel. A complete disruption of routine. An opportunity to explore something new.

What does it mean when I’m stuck at home? There’s no travel. The routine persists. Exploration is limited — so is the new and novel.

As a teacher, I tend to have a lot of opportunities for time off. This year, I’ve greeted most of them with, “May as well get some work done.” There’s been so much to do and so little energy for accomplishing it, so the extra time has been helpful.

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This week, I’ve been having a little trouble concentrating.

I’ve been going through the familiar rituals of my daily life — the enhanced, extra-hygge version in which I keep things tidy, light candles, and make lovely cups of tea to ward off pandemic-related anxiety or ennui. It helps to an extent, but it feels like I’m back in May, when I would get to the end of the day and wonder where it went and why nothing seemed to get done. What is this? Where did it come from?

And the answer comes back: This is grief.

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I was recently given two hand-me-down cast iron skillets. Apparently, when you have a glass cooktop, heavy cast iron might scratch it. So, lucky me!

The skillets were kinda rusty and yucky when I received them, but I dutifully followed the instructions for seasoning that I found somewhere on the Internet. Voilà! I couldn’t believe how beautiful they were when I took them out of the oven. They were like new.

The seemingly magical renewal of this cookware exceeded my expectations and got me thinking about the ways in which we humans take care of ourselves (or don’t).

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A friend’s five-year-old has taken to calling the time of coronavirus “The Season.”

She doesn’t like The Season: No school, porch visits only, masks and physical distance. Right there with ya, kid.

It’s important to me to have a sense of ease in my work — but discomfort is also a key element of growth. The harmony between these two states is what keeps us learning effectively. We want to see juuuuust the right amount of discomfort melting into ease again and again, little by little, like adding flour to your eggs and butter.

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